


All Was Fine.

by bluefish_finn



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Angst, Angst and Feels, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) Dies, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Avengers, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefish_finn/pseuds/bluefish_finn
Summary: After losing his Aunt May, Peter runs away to avoid going to a foster family. The next time he tries to run away from his problems, Tony Stark saves him. When he finds himself saving one of the avengers in return, how long can he run before the heroes discover Peter's secret identity?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first Spider-Man fic, so I hope the characters aren't that OOC, and hopefully you'll enjoy this as much as I did making it.
> 
> -Includes Swears-

It was Saturday morning, around 10AM, and all was good in the Parker household: Aunt May was making pancakes; Peter was playing games on his phone, laying down on the couch with his back pressed against the fuzzy green material. His hair was even messier than usual, and he had a huge smile plastered on his face. All was fine.

"Sweetie, could you pop to the store real quick for some pancake mix? I don't think I should make it myself, because _somehow_ this is -ah- spicy!" Called Aunt May from the kitchen, dipping a finger into the creamy mixture and putting it into her mouth. She loved cooking, but she wasn't exactly a master chef when it came to her abilities.

Peter giggled, "Yeah- sure, May!" The boy jumped from the couch excitedly. He really needed some air, and he could use the chance to buy supplies to fix up the suit. He picked up his keys, money, and shoved them into the pockets of his jeans and ran out the door, hopping as he finished putting on his converse. "I'll be back in ten!" He yelled, not looking back as he sped down the empty hallway. May sighed, smiling to herself as she watched his messy head of curls disappear. She closed the door as soon as her nephew entered the stairwell, walking over to the couch and turning on the TV. The sounds of the TV muffled as she absent-mindedly flicked through the channels, the sound of a phone notification snapping her awake. Looking down at the source of the sound she sighed. Peter's phone. She checked the notification, it was a text from his friend Ned. Reading the half of the text she could see on the lock screen, she saw that he sounded urgent. _Is it about the decathlon? _ She thought. _It could be important._

Picking up the phone, May rushed out the door trying to catch up with Peter. She ran down the stairs two steps at a time (making her nearly fall over), and pushed open the big oak doors leading to the outside. Ignoring the people staring at her as if she was crazy, she looked around and saw Peter's familiar half-way down the street, so she called after him, waving his phone around. "Peter! Baby, you -hah- left your phone behind -hah-" She gasped, panting for breath as she approached Peter. Placing her hand on his shoulder and pulling him aside into the alleyway to talk.

"You know you didn't _have_ to run after me and give it to me? I'd only be gone for a couple minutes..." He sighed, a confused smile on his face, reaching his bright brown eyes. Peter rolled his eyes. His aunt often pulled silly stunts like this, but it was her own little brand of quirkiness that Peter, in a sense, admired. Sometimes he found himself wishing he was as care-free as her, not stressing about grades or burning his breakfast, or anything even.

"I know, but _something_ could happen in those ten minutes- haven't you seen all the things happening on the news lately! Thank god we have Spider-Man otherwise I don't think I could send you out at all!" She laughed, not noticing how Peter's eyes darted downwards for a second. "Besides, Ned texted you and it seemed important.." She added, quieter. May held out her hand, handing over Peter's iPhone.

Peter was about to take it, but he flinched. He could feel every hair standing up on his body. _Danger. Danger. _His spidey senses were screaming, and he took their advice and turned around fast enough to see a man point a gun at him and Aunt May. The man was wearing a hood and a mask covered his mouth, but he could see his eyes. They were a deep brown, narrowed, and leaving a small trace of guilt, which Peter was too scared to notice. "Pass over the phone." He grunted, obviously trying to deepen his voice.

"Did you not hear me? Pass it over. Now." His voice was firm as he demanded they give it to him. Peter didn't know why, but he didn't comply. He was completely frozen, his eyes wide and tears forming in them. Why? He was Spider-Man, _for fuck's sake!_ If Spider-Man was so strong and heroic, why was Peter Parker so weak and powerless? Aunt May was stood still as well, reaching for Peter's hand as she stood infront of him, wanting to protect him. This shouldn't be happening. Not like this. _He _should be protecting her- he's the superhero!

''I didn't know you were deaf, shame, such a young pretty lady. Maybe the kid'll listen eh? You a smart kid right?" The man chuckled, eyeing Peter expectedly. But he didn't move. "What? You think I won't actually shoot? You need a guarantee? Fine then. That can be easily done." He lifted the gun, aiming it straight at Aunt May's forehead. His fingers slowly worked their way over to the trigger, as if expecting Peter or May to quickly hand over the phone. Peter was shaking, his spidey senses going haywire. Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled the trigger.

Time felt as if it slowed down. For a split second, Peter thought he saw Uncle Ben instead of Aunt May. Not again, not again, please not again! He pleaded in his mind, hoping someone would hear him. He didn't really believe in any God, but he never hoped he was real more than he did in that moment. He watched helplessly as the bullet flew through the air towards May. Panicking, he tried to get May out of the way, but he was too late._ He was too late._

* * *

The next hour passed by extremely fast, barely even feeling like 5 minutes. The noise from the gunshot alerted a nearby patrolling officer, who ran to the source as fast as he could. When the police officer got to the alley, the shooter dashed off behind them, leaving the cop staring at a crying Peter. He was kneeling on the cold ground, May's body laid over his lap and blood oozing out the entryhole on her forehead, and the even bigger exit wound on the back of her head. The blonde-haired officer grabbed a walkie talkie from his belt. "10-54, Shots fired, One dead and one possibly injured." His voice was calm yet urgent as he kneeled over by Peter. "It's gonna be alright, okay kid? There's an ambulance on the way, okay? Shh..."

And then Peter couldn't keep it in; so he cried, and cried, and cried, sobbing loudly as the officer had an arm around the vulnerable Peter. He cried until the ambulance got there, his crying turning into shouting as they tried to pry him off of Aunt May, but he eventually gave in because he just simply didn't have the energy. He didn't have the energy to do anything. The boy simply watched as the EMT put a white sheet over his aunt. That was the last time he'd ever see her. God, Peter _wanted_ to cry, but instead he stayed silent, nodding when the EMTs asked him questions and complying when the police officers told him to get in a cop car so they could drive him back to the precinct.

The ride to the police station was in complete, comfortable, silence. The two officers in the front of the car were self-aware, and knew not to be pushy and ask too many questions, the only interaction they had with Peter was occasionally glancing back at him to check if he's okay (which he wasn't but they didn't need to see him like that). When they arrived, the officer in the driver's seat assured him they'd only ask him a few questions and then they'd figure out what would happen to Peter. They walked slightly ahead of Peter, not holding him like a criminal, which he was thankful for. Regardless of the people staring at him weirdly, he wasn't a criminal- rather, he was the opposite. Peter sighed, walking past the glass doors leading into the reception. They got him a blue 'visitor' badge on a lanyard, which allowed him to go to the second floor. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his light grey hoodie as he stood sheepishly in the elevator with the two officers from earlier still accompanying him.

_God, he wanted this to end._ _This had to be some kind of dream, his brain was just bored- simply playing tricks on him. Right? How do you tell if you're dreaming? _Suddenly, a not-so-bright idea popped into his head. With his hand still in his pocket, he pinched himself in the stomach- really hard. Which is a bad idea when you have super strength. It took all of his strength (which just betrayed him) not to cry out in pain.

<strike> </strike> _Okay, so definitely not dreaming. Fuck. Shit. I'm not dreaming. I wish I was dreaming._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets interrogated by the officers at the precinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the positivity on the last chapter!! <3  
Here, have another one:

The 2nd floor of the precinct was almost immaculate, Peter noticed, as he looked at the neatly stacked files and colourful binders on people's desks. He certainly wasn't expecting that, as cops had been stereotypically portrayed as lazy pigs. Based on how much Peter had to do their job for them, he was starting to believe those. Another thing he certainly was not expecting, was to find that the place was almost empty. New York had so much crime, so he thought it was going to be busier and practically braced himself for a sensory overload. Relieved, the young boy sighed as one of the officers motioned for him to sit down at one of the empty desks.

The officers had to check some files before getting to Peter, so he had some time to take a better look at the precinct. At the desk he was sitting impatiently at, there were a couple neat piles of files, a rather old looking computer, and a few random notebooks. Someone at the other side of the room had caught him looking around curiously, and looked up from the laptop he'd been hunched over to give him a reprimanding stare. Feeling his cheeks turn pink, Peter quickly turned around in embarrassment. _Thank God there's only one other person in here, _he thought. _Why is there only one other person in here? _ He wondered, turning around to glance at the clock, which was starting to tick at an obnoxiously loud volume for Peter.

12 o'clock. 

_Tick, tick, tick._

So everyone was out on their lunch breaks, the boy realised. He sighed. _God, I could use some lunch..._ Having an enhanced metabolism was really inconvienient, as he could barely go a few hours without almost starving, and since he hadn't gotten to have breakfast yet, he might actually have been starving. His stomach hurt as it rumbled, the boy putting his arm around it as if it would stop the pain. Peter waited for the two officers to come back so the place would be slightly less empty- so he'd have a distraction.

_Tick, tick, tick._

_Seriously, could that clock just stop? _But when he tried to tune it out, he could hear the breaths of the gentleman sitting at the back. _Why were they so raspy? Might wanna go check that out. _As Peter concentrated on the man in the back, speculating about what kind of medical condition he had (Peter didn't know, because he wasn't exactly a med student), he could hear his heartbeat. 

It beat in an odd pattern- if you could even call it that- much to Peter's concern.

_Thump,_

_Thump,_

_Thump,_

Peter sighed. Even moments like these, seeming ordinarily quiet, were unbearably loud to him. In louder situations, it was somehow better for Peter as there was a big loudness that drowned out all the small noises. 

It was the small noises that really irked him. People breathing, their heartbeats, the sound of their shoes as they walked; the tiny things. They bothered him so much because they shouldn't have been, they shouldn't have even felt so loud.

_Tick, tick, tick._

_When will they come back?_

_Thump, thump, thump._

_I hate this. I'm bored, and my head hurts, and I need a distraction, and I hate this!_

_Breathe in, wheeze, breathe in, wheeze, breathe in, wheeze._

_Tap, tap, tap._

_Thump, thump, thump._

_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out._

"Hey kid, sorry that we took so long." And like that, Peter snapped out of it. "We just got caught up while looking through some stuff." The taller officer smiled, sitting down and pulling out a chair for his companion.

His companion- a short, slim, blonde-haired man- started speaking. "I'm Officer Smith, and this is my partner Officer Dales. We're going to be asking you some questions, alright?"

"First of all, this here says you're Peter Parker? 15 years old, born in Queens? Is all this information correct?" Smith asked. Peter nodded, his eyes not meeting those of either of the officers.

"Alright then. Could you please explain the events leading up to the shooting?" Officer Smith continued as Dales pulled out a pen and a notepad.

Peter took a deep breath. "So, um... Me and my aunt were in the apartment, and she was cooking breakfast. She asked me to go to the shop to buy some pancake mix- so I went. My aunt May stopped me near an alley when I was on my way because I left my phone at home." He feigned a quick laugh, "May doesn't want me going anywhere without my phone so I can call her if anything happens. She's- she _was_ very protective of me like that. Anyway, um, she took my phone out of her pocket and was about to give it to me. But then- a.. A man stepped out of nowhere and he- he had a gun pointed at May. He told her to give her the phone- and.. And.. She didn't." His breaths were shaky, his eyes were watering, and he was on the verge of having a panic attack. Scratch that, he was already having one. He took a deep breath, and swallowed.

"And then he shot her."

* * *

Silence.

His hands were shaking on his lap. They were white knuckled from how tight he had been clenching them. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like hours had passed until Dales spoke up to break the silence.

"Sorry for how that happened- I know this probably doesn't bring back nice memories- but could you describe the face of the shooter?"

Dales was right. It didn't bring back nice memories. Peter described what he saw of the man's face in as much detail as he could, watching Dales make some quick sketches and taking notes of what he said. _God, that was accurate._ He had almost expected the man to jump out of the notepad.

"Alright kid, I think we have all we need. Now, we just gotta get a hold of some people from CPS so we can get you into foster care- 'cause Smith did a quick background check on ya while I did the sketch.

Peter froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his eyes widened ever so slightly, and he felt goosebumps all over his arms. It wasn't like he was in any immediate danger, but his spidey senses were going crazy. He would have been stupid to ignore it, especially after his previous experience.

_No, no way!_

There was no way he was going back into foster care. After his parents died, Peter got sent to a foster family while Uncle Ben fought to get custody of him. Though he had only been in foster care for a month- it _sucked_. He got fed very little, shouted at a lot, and between him and his 8 foster siblings; got paid very little attention. 

_I'm not going back there._

"-So, me and Smith are gonna be in the Cap's office over there," he said, pointing " And we'll be back in a short bit. Hold on just a while, okay kid?" Dales smiled, getting up. He and Smith walked away side by side, mindlessly chatting away.

Peter looked around, making sure there was no-one in sight, and there wasn't. Even the unhealthy man from earlier was gone. Smirking to himself, Peter got up slowly, his eyes still darting around just in case.

_Now's your chance, Peter._

_You're not going back into foster care._

And then he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would be interested in proof-reading later chapters for me, that'd be much appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the last chapter being so short! To make up for that, this one's gonna be a bit longer.
> 
> Also, in this, I imagine Peter's suit to look similar to Rosy Higgins' redesign of the Spider-Man suit. You should go check it out!

As he sped out of the precinct, ignoring the receptionist shouting at him to come back, Peter tried to come up with a plan. First things first, he'd have to go back home to his apartment and pack some stuff. Some food, water, money, his suit and webshooters, and anything else that he would need. He'd figure it out when he got there.

He turned sharply around several corners, ran across the crosswalks as if his life depended on it, and after bumping into several irritated pedestrians, he was standing outside of his apartment building in Forest Hills. 

Standing in front of the glass doors, Peter froze for a bit. He didn't know why he hesitated, but he got annoyed with himself for it. He needed to do this. Memories of his time in foster care haunted him every so often, and he didn't particularly want to re-live them. It wasn't a very good time. Besides, he was Spider-Man. He could manage living on the streets for 3 years.

Without school.

Or his friends.

_Stop that, Peter. You've already established that you're going to do this. You ran out of a police station in the middle of getting interrogated for God's sake. You can't back out now._

Peter sighed, shaking himself to try and snap out of it. He walked up the stairs leading up to his- but not really _his_\- apartment. After fiddling with the keys and unlocking the door, Peter looked around the apartment. Every single memory he'd made in the place flooding his head. Him and Aunt May watching animated movies together, hanging out with Ned, doing homework as May praised him. He would miss these moments. Heading to his room, he opened the closet and took out a duffle bag he had from his camping trips with May and Ben. _Those were fun. _

_What would be most important? Hm... _

He opened the attic, and took out all the parts of his Spider-Man suit first; the hoodie, leggings, gloves, goggles, mask, and the unnecessarily tall converse. They weren't conventional, but he could run in them and they made his suit look badass, so he grew fond of them. After rolling all of the components of the suit (except for the leggings and goggles) together as if they were socks, Peter threw them into the duffle bag and moved on to do the same with a couple of regular outfits. Outfits he'd be warmest in, since he wasn't going to have heating on the streets, and because he couldn't thermoregulate.

_Damn spider powers, _he thought to himself, forcing out a laugh.

When he finished packing clothes -he took 3 pairs of everything- socks, boxers, shirts, trousers, sweaters-, he put the bag over his shoulder, went to the kitchen and started carelessly shoving in food. Well, maybe not carelessly- per se- but he took whatever wouldn't go bad as soon as he walked out of the house.

Half an hour later, Peter's duffle bag is almost full, leaving space for essentials; his phone, a toothbrush, toothpaste, bath products, web-shooters, and 'first aid equipment' (some gauze pads, medical tape, and rubbing alcohol, y'know, the basics). He also threw in two blankets because he _still_ couldn't thermoregulate.

_I think that's it._

_Wait!_

Peter ran back into May's room, and took out her wallet from a drawer in her bedside table. "Sorry, May..." He muttered to himself, taking out all the money within. Then, he went to his room and did the same with his piggy bank and Iron Man themed wallet. 

With the money out of May's wallet as well as his own, he had about $230. That was more than enough to feed him when his food supply ran out. He'd have to spend his money carefully. Peter sighed, shoving the money next to his phone- which he'd taken the sim card out of, so he couldn't be tracked.

He'd figure things out when he'd get there.

Get where, exactly?

How could he survive on the streets without any temporary shelter? His stomach felt queasy at the thought of sleeping in an alley after what happened to Ben, and now May. So where would he stay?

Wasn't there an abandoned part of New York near Manhattan? 

A couple months back, the Avengers fought a bunch of crooks with super high-tech weapons made out of junk from the attack on New York a while back. During the last fight, a jet crashed and demolished tons of houses. Since the jet was carrying 'classified Avengers crap' (a quote from Tony Stark himself, during an interview regarding the jet crash) they decided to buy the area in case there was anything left behind. The Avengers mostly used it for training excercises and such, so the houses that weren't bought were abandoned by their owners and taken off the market.

He could stay there.

Now, that he had charted a course, he threw the bag over his shoulder and left in the direction of Manhattan.

* * *

With his enhanced speed, it took him around 3 hours to get to what he'd declared would be his new home. By the time he got there, it was around 3pm, and yet it felt like a month has passed.

Up ahead, he could see the gate which signified the entrance- or rather, blocked it off- to the area that Stark owned. Deciding not to go any further, Peter looked at the houses around him.

He was in the suburbs of Manhattan, and all the houses were semi-detatched. They each had small steps leading up to wooden doors, wooden boards covering up dusty windows. It was as if someone copy and pasted the same house over and over again, apart from the occasional change in colour of brick or the accents. Searching until he found the least dilapidated building, he walked over to it and tried to open the door.

As it wouldn't budge otherwise, Peter had to use his super strength to force the door open, crumpling the bronze door knob in the process. It creaked as he pushed the door open, revealing the house to be completely stripped of it's contents. Wallpaper was peeling off on every wall. There were no carpets, leaving the dirty floor boards exposed. There was barely any furniture in the house apart from a built in oven and a sink in the kitchen, and a toilet and shower in the bathroom. 

_Atleast there's the basics. Except I won't actually be able to use them. Without electricity and all that jazz._

He sighed. He'd figure something out. Just like he always did. In fact, he was already coming up with ways to power the house on his own while the floor boards creaked beneath him as he walked upstairs.

The second floor of the house was the same, except even emptier somehow. His expression fell. Peter didn't know what he'd expected to be up here, but he was still disappointed. Shaking his head, he looked around for _anything._

"Aha! Eureka!" He cheerfully exclaimed as he noticed a small hatch on the ceiling. An attic! Nobody ever cleans out the attic, so there had to be something there! Excitedly, he pushed open the hatch and let out a small yelp as the ladder jumped down at him. His spidey sense notified him to step to the side at the last second, however. The boy hopped up the ladder, looking around the room.

He was right. There was still some stuff left in here. A mattress leaned against the wall, there was a stack of old lawn chairs in the corner, and Peter could see some boxes filled with bubblewrap. Peter's face beamed. It wasn't much, but he could make it work. 

Getting to work, he pulled out the mattress and laid it down in the corner of the attic. He threw his duffle bag on top of it, and unzipped the bag. Digging around until he found what he was looking for, he shoved the blankets lazily onto the 'bed', and set the bag down by the foot of the mattress. Then, he went over to the chairs and stacks of boxes, and managed to build a makeshift desk. Two plastic lawnchairs standing side by side, with some boxes stacked on top of eachother (with the bubble wrap taken out- that stuff is _fun_). There was yet another lawn chair in there, so he moved it in front of the desk. Not liking the fact that all his stuff was still all in one bag, he took out all the medical supplies and shoved them into a box by his bed. What good would they be if he had to dig around in his bag for ages when he was busy bleeding out? Along with that, he took out all his food and placed it in a different box. He had always liked things to be neat and organised.

After he had decided that he was done, Peter took a step back to admire his work. A small surge of pride built up inside him and he smiled sadly. He could do this. Of course, this wasn't really ideal, but it was better than nothing. 

Sighing, Peter laid down on the grey mattress and stared up at the ceiling. If he ignored how lumpy it felt, perhaps he could manage to squeeze in a short nap before going on patrol. But that's not what he was trying to ignore. He twisted and turned, unable to sleep, memories of the day's earlier events pouncing onto him like a predator attacking its prey. He felt helpless.

Pictures of Aunt May's body that he'd pushed away resurfacing. The sound of the gunshot playing on repeat in his ears. Thoughts of 'You could have saved her' drowning out the noise from the gun.

He simply took it. He took it because it was torture and he deserved punishment because _he could have saved her._

And he didn't.

Peter broke out in ugly sobs. It was as if a dam had broken inside of him, filled too much and flooded. He just couldn't hold it back anymore. It was too much. He was exhausted and it was all too much for him. A few minutes of crying and pathetic whimpering later, he fell asleep.

* * *

About two hours had passed before Peter shot upwards, sweaty and breathing heavily. Of course he had a nightmare, that was just Parker luck at work. Couldn't he just forget everything that'd happened today and be at peace? He sighed, and turned to look out the window by the head of his mattress. The sun was already starting to set outside, the blue sky slowly fading into orange. Pushing himself off with his hands, he got up and walked over to his bag tiredly.

He unzipped it, and took out all the components of his suit. He took off his own hoodie and exchanged it for the one he'd sewn/painted on his own. Next, he stepped out of his sweatpants and put on the dark skinny jeans that let him move around easier, and warmed him up. Finally, he pulled on his red converse, put on his mask, and pulled up his hood, putting his goggles over it to make it stay in place; and to help with his vision, to dull it down.

Peter- no, Spider-Man - looked down at himself, and realised he had almost forgotten his webshooters. _Nice job Spidey, nearly going out to fight crime without your only weapon._ The bracelets were a mere blur as he grabbed them and ran up to the window, slipping them on before he kicked the window open. With a quiet 'thwip', he swung off into the sun. Or, to be more accurate, Queens.

Sure, he was all the way in Manhattan, but he needed some good old Queens air- especially since most of Manhattan actually smelled like rat piss, but more sophisticated. Besides, he would stop if something was happening on the way.

As if on cue, his spidey-sense went off. A sharp prick in the back of his neck, telling him to look down into the alley below. Sure enough, he saw three men cornering a young woman somewhere in her 20s. 

"L-leave me alone! I don't have anything!" She pleaded while on the verge of tears.

"Oh, so you're telling me a pretty thing like you didn't bring any money with her to go to the club? I don't like being lied to, missy." The man in the middle spoke. He was obviously the 'leader' of the group.

"Yeah- none of us 'preciate that kinda crap. Boss might have to teach ya some manners." Yep, that confirmed it.

He scanned the alley looking for a place to jump down. When one of the men moved towards the poor woman, Peter decided to screw it, and jumped down while he simultaneously webbed two of the bad guys together by their shoulders. That managed to knock them to the ground. "I think maybe _you're_ the ones that need to learn some manners!" He quipped, ducking as 'Boss' threw a punch aimed at his head. "And how to throw a punch, that was kinda weak technique, dude."

"You little-" The man tried to hit him again, but Spidey dodged, and shot a web at him, which pushed the mugger into the corner of the wall. Before he could move, he used his webs to tie him to the wall, along with his accomplices- who were turtling. It was a rather amusing scene, seeing two grown and heavily tattooed men struggling to get off the floor

"Bad muggers! Stay in the naughty corner and think about what you've done!" He told them off and turned to the woman. "Everything alright ma'am?" Seeing her nod, he added: "Can you call the police on your own?"

"Oh! Uhm- yes, yes I can! Thank you so much..."

"Spider-Man." Peter added.

"Thanks, Spider-Man." She gave him a quick smile, before turning away to dial the cops.

Since his work here was done, he shot a web onto a tall building on the opposite side of the road, and swung away.


End file.
